


the measure of things

by mortarsmayfall



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, but this fic does warrant the E rating so, feels kind of weird to be tagging sex since it isn't a huge focus, finn is beautiful and poe dameron never had a chance, okay satan okay, some descriptions of gore but they're as a result of aforementioned canon-typical violence, this story is half retelling of canon so SPOILERS AHEAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortarsmayfall/pseuds/mortarsmayfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His face is – not what Poe expects from a Stormtrooper. The polymer armor is a shock of lightning against his broad face, handsome with dark skin and soft black eyes that are wide not in fury, but panic.</p><p><em>Beautiful,</em> is what Poe’s exhausted brain supplies. Instead, all he manages to do is blink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the measure of things

White.

It’s the first thing Poe notices about him, about any Stormtrooper: a clinical white, devoid of passion, of emotion – the Stormtrooper is a blur of white. He hooks an arm through Poe’s elbow and _drags_ and Poe chokes down a yelp.

The helmet comes off, though, and Poe nearly gasps.

His face is – not what Poe expects from a Stormtrooper. The polymer armor is a shock of lightning against his broad face, handsome with dark skin and soft black eyes that are wide not in fury, but panic.

 _Beautiful,_ is what Poe’s exhausted brain supplies. Instead, all he manages to do is blink. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Stormtrooper hisses, and Poe vaguely wonders if the terror on his face reflects the Stormtrooper’s. “I want to get out of here.”

“Why are you doing this?”

The Stormtrooper squares his jaw defiantly. “Because…it’s the right thing to do.”

“You need a pilot,” Poe says, after some consideration. He can’t help but grin in spite of his situation – what are the odds? Rescued by a handsome rogue Stormtrooper. General Organa wouldn’t believe it.

“I need a pilot,” the Stormtrooper agrees, and his eyes light up like stars in a velvety black sky.

\--

The Stormtrooper’s name (serial number) is FN-2187. He tells Poe this as he blasts an enemy TIE fighter to smithereens.

Poe tells him he ain’t calling him that (because he really, truly can’t bring himself to call a guy by a fuckin’ _serial number_ ) and instead names him Finn.

“’Finn.’ I like that!” The Stormtrooper – no, _Finn_ – exclaims. 

This is all Poe remembers before everything goes white and he’s staggering, head pounding, through the desert. 

_Where’s the TIE fighter? Fuck, where’s_ Finn?

Poe is made painfully aware that he lost his jacket when the Jakku sun begins to sink under the dunes and the cold seeps into his bones, setting his teeth on edge. His tongue feels too heavy in his head and his body quivers from cold and dehydration.

_Where’s Finn? Where is he?_

There are hands on him now – clad in orange flight suits and khaki Resistance uniforms, turning him over, lifting a canteen to his lips. _Can’t believe we found him – thought he was dead – could you imagine?_

“Where’s my friend? _Where’s Finn?”_ Poe tries to ask, but all that comes out is a dry, hacking cough. In his exhaustion and panic, he’d swallowed sand.

\--

He doesn’t see Finn again.

General Organa grounds him, which Poe hates. He doesn’t hesitate to tell her so. The General squeezes Poe’s shoulder and tells him to rest.

“But I’m _fine,”_ He protests, moving to sit up in his cot. Her hand is firm when it settles him back into the mattress.

“I know what Kylo Ren can _do_ to a person, Poe. Give yourself time to come back to yourself. And get some sleep.”

And the General is right. He hates that she’s right but it’s the _truth,_ and it’s no more evident than when Poe lies awake at night and tries not to remember the smoky haze at the edges of his mind, of Kylo Ren torturing him, forcing him to relive his mother’s fighter crashing over and over again, her lifeless eyes, the flaming wreckage. Rifling through Poe’s memories like a shoebox in the depths of his closet. Corrupting them with Ren’s presence. 

The gleaming visor of Ren’s mask flashes in Poe’s mind and he can’t help but cover his eyes with the heels of his hands, digging them into the sockets so hard little starbursts stand out against his eyelids. 

\--

And then the unimaginable happens.

Finn comes _back_ and Poe almost doesn’t recognize him without the armor and – and he’s _wearing Poe’s jacket_ and it takes everything he has to maintain a steady voice and not collapse – heavy flight suit and all – in Finn’s arms. They nearly knock each other over on impact and he’s hugging Finn and making disbelieving noises and Finn’s laughing and his voice is –

Poe wants to kiss him. 

Instead, he tells Finn to keep the jacket. It suits him, Poe says. He bites his lip to keep from saying something profoundly stupid.

_It’s the only thing Finn has to his name._

\--

When Poe sees him next, Starkiller is over and Finn’s unconscious, his limp body cradled in Chewbacca (where’s Han Solo?)’s arms. His right arm swings uselessly, the jacket charred and torn at the shoulder, and Poe is horrified to realize that Finn is badly wounded, blood crusting where his torn undershirt shows through the hole in the jacket. Suddenly everything is too slow, like he’s moving through water, his legs working robotically with the only goal of getting to Finn.

“Is he going to be okay,” Poe demands, and he barely notices that there are tears streaming down his cheeks. _“Is he going to survive this?”_

Chewie howls in grief, and Poe knows exactly what happened to Han. Rey puts her hands over Poe’s – bless the poor girl, she barely knows him – and looks at him, soft and mournful. 

“Finn’s hurt,” She says, squeezing Poe’s hands. “Kylo Ren got to him, and he tried to use the lightsaber and he – Ren – his _back –“_

Rey’s crying, too, and Poe doesn’t know what to do so he pulls her into a quick embrace and runs to follow the transport taking Finn to the med bay.

\--

The wound on Finn’s shoulder is gnarled and ugly but it’s nothing compared to the gash on his back, running diagonally from the top of his left shoulder to his waist. It’s blistered and there are places where the skin was scorched clean away, revealing white muscle underneath. The med bay unit Finn is placed in smells like burning flesh and Poe nearly retches, the odor overwhelming.

But still, Poe keeps silent vigil over his friend, his _Finn,_ just some poor kid born in the wrong circumstances who ran as far and as fast as he could at the first chance he got. _How did he end up here?_

He’d fought with the Rebels.

If Finn cared about himself, he’d have run to the Outer Rim without looking back, lived life as a smuggler and laid low while the Rebel Alliance and the First Order beat the shit out of each other. No one would have ever heard from him again. No one would have ever _cared_ about him. 

Except Poe. And Rey.

“Is this what you wanted?” 

Of course, Finn doesn’t respond. Poe takes his hand, gently, runs his thumb across the back of it, near the webbing of his thumb and index finger. Finn’s face is soft in sleep, normally tense jaw relaxed and his brow smooth. He’s too old to be a boy anymore and Poe doubts he ever got a decent shot at childhood anyway but he seems younger, less sharp around the edges. 

“You’re such an idiot. I’m gonna box you around the ears for this later, when you aren’t dead to the world.”

A long pause. Poe looks at his thumb, still tracing circles on the back of Finn’s hand, and considers himself for a moment. Finally, he presses a kiss, feather light, to Finn’s knuckles, as if any more and he might shatter to pieces.

“Don’t die on me, buddy.”

\--

Finn doesn’t die. In fact, Finn, in all of his unconscious glory, seems quite _allergic_ to death as a concept, keeps evading it like he’s a wanted man. Poe sets up a routine with him – fly missions, report to the General, visit Finn. If it’s a slow few days and there’s nothing for him to do, Poe will more often than not spend hours by Finn’s bedside, telling him about what’s going on in the base, what Rey’s up to, information on where Kylo Ren and the Order have fled to – if he has no news for Finn he’ll tell him jokes, sing to him, or just sit in silence, holding Finn’s hand, warming it between his palms. The room smells less like burning meat and more like the bacta, cold and sterile. 

Oftentimes Poe is shooed from the room, either by the General, who sometimes visits and worries that Poe has been sleeping in a chair, or the medical droids themselves, who understandably do not appreciate Poe hovering as they redress Finn’s wounds with more bacta and clean bandages.

Poe begins to really miss the son of a bitch.

He also begins to _panic,_ because for all of the medical advances in the galaxy, there’s no known cure for a _coma,_ and _what if he never wakes up?_

One week later, Finn begins to stir and groan, and Poe has to stop himself from sobbing all over Finn’s chest in relief.

\--

“…And _don’t_ roughhouse with him, his wounds might open back up and we’re trying to avoid as much scarring as possible. No strenuous activity for that one. If he tries to move anything heavy, don't let him.”

“I won’t,” Poe promises. General Organa looks at him balefully.

“I _won’t,”_ he repeats, a little offended at the General’s lack of faith. “C’mon, General, since when have you known me to disobey direct orders?”

“Special circumstance,” General Organa says, quirking an eyebrow. “That kid’s got you wrapped around his finger. I may be old, Dameron, but my eyesight’s still plenty sharp enough to see the way you look at him.”

Poe opens his mouth and shuts it again, dumbstruck. When he finally gets his words back, it’s as if the General sucker punched him in the gut.

“General—“

General Organa holds her hand up, eyes crinkled and smiling. “Save it, Poe. I’m not going to stop you making googly eyes at him. Just make sure you’re keeping up with your duties.”

She claps Poe on the shoulder affectionately, and he can’t help but wonder if she sees herself in him, the way Poe holds a torch for Finn.

The way she did for Han.

\--

Finn’s finally awake in the med bay, shuffling around for his shirt. The gash on his back is wrapped thoroughly in gauze and healing nicely, and Poe can’t help but whistle at how _large_ it is, startling Finn.

“Sorry, sorry,” Poe chuckles. “Didn’t mean to scare you there, buddy. That’s going to be a _hell_ of a scar.”

Finn blushes and avoids looking Poe in the eye. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a great conversation starter. ‘How’d you get that scar, Finn?’ Oh, you know, got my ass kicked by Kylo Ren himself and passed out. So heroic.” He pulls his shirt on and Poe just barely avoids staring at the ripple of muscle that the gauze doesn’t cover for too long.

“Rey told me you used the lightsaber,” Poe says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I lost.”

“A _lightsaber,”_ Poe reiterates, more slowly. “Finn, you’ve never picked a lightsaber up in your _life_ and you held your own against the leader of the _First Order._ That’s _amazing.”_

Finn can’t help but laugh, a bright sound that Poe wants to wrap himself in. “I nearly died, though. You’re seriously giving me way too much credit.”

“Credit where it’s due, my friend. If it were me in your place? I’d be _dead._ I can’t exactly fly my fighter at Kylo Ren’s _face._ What you did was mighty brave.”

The room falls silent. Finn paces away from him, hands on his hips, expression unreadable. He sighs.

“You nearly _did_ die. On Jakku.”

“Finn.” Poe doesn’t know – doesn’t know what he’s _doing_ but he’s crossing the med bay unit in long strides and he’s got Finn’s _face_ in his hands and Finn looks about as shocked as Poe feels, eyes glued to Poe’s mouth. “You _saved_ me, Finn. If you never grabbed me on the _Finalizer_ I would have been dead for sure.”

“Right,” Finn murmurs, as if any louder would cause the two of them to shatter. “Um. Right.”

Finn’s trembling. The pad of Poe’s thumb skims his cheekbone. Under Poe’s hands, Finn’s skin grows hot.

“’M starving,” Finn tells Poe, finally. “I don’t remember the last time I ate.”

And – Poe’s hands slip off Finn’s face, falling to rest awkwardly against his hips. “I gotcha. Wanna come with me to the mess hall?”

“Please.”

\--

Finn gets assigned to live with Poe, for the time being. It’s not due to any special requests (Poe swears this on his life every time Jess gives him sidelong glances), just that the rooms are already crowded and Poe knows Finn best. Despite this, they almost never see each other until the evening, with Poe elbow-deep in oil and grease repairing X-wings and Finn doing odd duties the General clears as not too strenuous. Over the weeks, Finn’s wounds knit back together and the gauze comes off, leaving raised, shining lines darker than his skin where Ren cut him.

They both suffer nightmares. 

Whatever Poe thinks he has, Finn has far worse. There are nights where he wakes up screaming, sweat dripping off the end of his nose. He cries for Rey, he cries for his fellow soldiers.

_He cries for Poe._

There are nights where Finn groans and gasps for air and shakes like Poe did in Jakku at night and finally Poe can’t take listening to his pain silently and he throws off his covers, padding over to the extra cot.

“Hey,” Poe whispers, laying a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Finn wakes with a start, panting, before realizing where he was and settling down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Bad dream.”

“Sounds like,” Poe agrees. “I was wondering – and you can decline, no pressure – if I could…?”

He pats the mattress, and Finn nods drowsily. “You get ‘em too?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

And that’s how Poe’s bed grows colder and colder from disuse. He wraps himself around Finn, lets himself have this one selfish thing, someone else to hold onto at night when there’s nothing to distract either of them from their thoughts. They sleep chest to back, Poe’s face buried in Finn’s hairline, sharing body heat. When either of them wakes up crying the other one is there to hold him while his body is wracked with sobs, quivering with fear.

Sometimes, Poe will wake horrified to find himself half-hard against the back of Finn’s thigh, and stir to take a cold shower. Finn, if he even notices, doesn’t say anything.

“Question,” Poe mumbles against Finn’s ear one night.

“Mm.”

“Do Stormtroopers – are they allowed to –“

Finn turns to face him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s squinting at Poe in the darkness. “To what?”

“For lack of a better word – um – _make love?”_

“What, with each other?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why do you ask?”

Poe scans Finn’s face in the dimness of the room. “Rey told me one of the first things you asked her was if she had a boyfriend.”

Finn’s eyes go wide as dinner plates.

“And, um. It got me. Curious? You’re the first defected Stormtrooper I’ve met, so. Do they all. Y’know?”

Even in the darkness, Finn’s blush is unmistakable, which in turn makes Poe’s ears burn. He hides his face in his neck, giggling. 

Once his laughter subsides, though, Finn clears his throat. “Oh, God. Sorry. That was just – I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

“Glad I’m entertaining you so much,” Poe grouses, and Finn’s smile is blinding white, cutting through the darkness.

“If you really want to know…yeah, there wasn’t anything really against the rules about – er – fraternizing. Disgusted Phasma, though. But as long as she wasn’t hearing about it and we were doing our jobs, she couldn’t care less. She wasn’t particularly fond of exclusive relationships, she thought it made a Trooper less sharp. More likely to die protecting another one. A lot of Troopers did it anyway as an act of reclaiming whatever shred of individuality they had left.” 

“So did you?”

“Nah.” Finn shakes his head. “I was too much of an outsider, and too scared. Never did anything like that because I was too afraid of Phasma crushing me under her shiny chrome boot. Also, she had some particular fondness of me as the model Trooper, constantly commended me on my aim. Although between you and me, it isn’t that hard to be a good shot when it comes to Stormtroopers.” 

Poe smiles, rubbing his fingers over Finn’s wrist. It’s late and they’re both tired, and Finn doesn’t get embarrassed enough to shake his hand off. “But you ran away.”

“Was my first offense, too. Phasma and the others had no idea I had it in me.”

It’s hardly believable but Poe can see Finn, the good little soldier boy, terrified out of his wits and ready to run given his first chance. “Was Jakku your first deployment?”

“And my last,” Finn confirms. 

“Hell of a guy you are.”

“And a hell of a pilot you are.”

A comfortable, drowsy silence falls over them. They both lie face to face, eyes dark in dimness, and Poe thinks about kissing Finn there.

“I’m gonna sleep now, if that’s okay.”

Poe licks his lips, looking away. “Yeah. Yeah, you sleep.” 

\--

Eventually, Poe finally does get his chance.

Here’s how it happens: Poe’s covered in engine grease and Finn’s sweating from training – now that he’s healed, he learns how to use lightsabers as well as improve his aim on blasters. It involves the two of them and the bottle of whiskey stashed under Poe’s bunk, largely forgotten because Poe usually doesn’t drink but it’s contraband from an old mission and another pilot tossed it to him in celebration and he felt guilty about throwing it out or giving it away. It was a long day and Poe isn’t feeling like himself so he gropes around for the heavy glass bottle and cracks the label, looking at Finn.

“Ain’t no way I can finish this on my own,” Poe says, taking a swig and wincing as the fiery liquid burns his throat. He holds it out to Finn. “Want some?”

“What is it?” Finn eyes the bottle, unnecessarily decorated with blown glass figures and strange symbols.

“Whiskey. The good shit,” Poe replies, swirling the liquid in the bottle around. “Comes from a species of barley I can’t even pronounce. Got it a while ago on a mission.” He hands the bottle to Finn, who holds it up to inspect its contents, before lifting the neck to his lips. “Careful, it’s—“

Finn finishes that thought by doubling over and hacking out an irritated cough. 

“Strong,” he finishes.

They sit on the floor, passing the bottle back and forth, giggling and getting progressively drunker. Poe feels good, loose and happy, and he can’t help but notice the way the light hits Finn’s cheek and makes his dark skin glow. 

“D-do Stormtroopers have sex ed,” Poe slurs, taking another pull out of the bottle.

“’Scuse me?” Finn laughs, gesturing for Poe to pass the bottle back. They’re sitting cross-legged, across from each other, like children playing a game.

“Y’know, do they tell you ‘bout,” Poe makes an obscene gesture and Finn howls with laughter. _“It?”_

“Kindly elaborate,” Finn croaks, between hysterics. He’s laughing so hard he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

 _“Buddy,”_ Poe snorts, and he almost feels like he’s going to throw up, he’s shaking with laughter so hard. “Did they never tell you about how, w-when a man loves a woman _very much—“_

He can’t finish the thought because he throws himself on the floor, cackling and hiccupping.

“Oh, _that,”_ Finn takes a drink. “Yep, definitely covered that. Considering they were dealing with a bunch of kids who were on the cusp of puberty and not fully developed clones, I don’t think they could afford to _not_ explain the sudden, terrifying things happening to our bodies. It wasn’t much fun, though. Mostly they told us about how babies are made and then started distributing birth control pills.”

 _“Birth control pills,”_ Poe repeats, incredulously. “What, like having more Stormtroopers is a _bad_ thing?”

“Stormtroopers are cheap. You can replace them at a few credits a dozen. _Pregnant_ Stormtroopers are a liability. If they catch you not taking your birth control, they sterilize you.”

 _“Sterilize you.”_ Poe whistles. “This don’t seem… _dystopian,_ to you? Why even give you the pills in the first place if they could just tie your tubes once and for all?”

“Probably to give the illusion that you had a choice in the first place. I never had that happen to me, though.”

“Too afraid to try anything?”

“Mm.”

They don’t say anything for a while. Poe holds up his hand, entreating Finn for the bottle. “We are _so_ drunk,” Poe says, and Finn hums in agreement. “This your first time getting drunk?”

“Yup,” Finn answers, popping the P. 

“First time for everything,” Poe concedes, sitting up and taking a drink. They’re drunk enough now that the whiskey goes down smooth and warm, not nearly as fiery as when they first started out. Poe knocks shoulders with Finn and Finn makes a soft noise, content. “Sorry for askin’ depressing things all the time.”

“You’re fine. It helps to compartmentalize.”

“Sayin’ that for my benefit?”

“Nah.”

The passing of the bottle gets slower. Hands linger over each other for too long and Finn’s eyes are half-lidded and he looks _perfect_ like this, even if he’s sweating from overexertion and the humidity of D’Qar. And Poe just has to reach out and – _touch –_

“Hey,” Poe says, tracing Finn’s lower lip with his thumb. It’s definitely the whiskey talking but he can’t bring himself to _care_ when Finn looks so open –

“Hey yourself,” Finn replies, and he doesn’t move away, doesn’t excuse himself to the mess hall. There’s some jostling around and Poe definitely swears under his breath when they nearly knock the bottle over but _there it is,_ first impact, they had liftoff – Finn’s mouth is as soft as Poe imagined it to be and he nearly bowls Finn over in his enthusiasm. The alcohol makes both of them sloppy and it’s less of a kiss and more of a wet slide of mouths, and Finn makes a helpless noise when Poe sucks on his tongue.

“I was wondering when you were gonna do that,” Finn breathes against Poe’s mouth, their foreheads knocking together. Poe’s hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and engine grease but he can’t even begin to give a shit. “Seemed to be taking your sweet time.”

“Waiting for the right moment,” Poe says, and it’s a half-assed excuse for his unbearable shyness but it’ll do.

“I think I gave you plenty of right moments.”

“Tease,” Poe jibes, and Finn leans in for another, biting at his lip. They’re way too drunk to be doing this properly but the way Finn runs his tongue along the back of Poe’s teeth is too good and Poe moans because this has been a long time coming and it’s so much better than expected. Finn’s arms wrap around Poe’s middle and _lifts_ him onto Finn’s lap and Poe feels like he’s about to _die,_ this is way too hot for him to survive without going supernova. 

“You’re _strong,”_ Poe gasps, and Finn chuckles, his grip around Poe’s waist tightening. 

“Kinda have to be.”

“This is rapidly on its way to becoming A Thing for me,” Poe tilts his head to let Finn at his neck. “Just so you’re aware.”

Finn’s fingers tug at the hem of his undershirt uncertainly. They scorch Poe’s skin even through the thin material, and when Finn slides a hand underneath he shudders. He can almost feel the blood rushing through his own veins, heat coursing down through him, and realizes this is going to quickly become a problem if they don’t quit this now.

Finn’s mouth is on his again and if Poe lets out an embarrassing noise then Finn thankfully does not acknowledge it, but he has to pull away, no matter how much it hurts him to. “Um. I hate to slow this down but you are _really_ hot and we’re both _way_ too drunk to be doing anything other than make out, so.”

Before Poe can protest, the heel of Finn’s hand is digging into his groin and – _yep,_ it’s officially a problem. Poe can’t help the _noise_ he makes, low in his chest, and Finn can’t help but laugh, astounded.

_“Already?”_

“’M afraid so,” Poe pants. “And I ain’t really looking to – _ah_ – get lucky right now, especially since this is your first time, and I’d rather we weren’t both liquored up.”

So they stop.

Poe excuses himself to shower (he’s filthy anyway) and if Finn hears him groan, one hand braced against the wall and the other around his dick, then he blessedly doesn’t mention it.

\--

Things begin to change, after that.

Poe and Finn might as well be an item, at this point – now people other than the General or Jess are giving them knowing looks. BB-8 is the worst; even for a droid it’s insufferable about the two of them, tripping Poe so he falls into Finn’s arms or nudging the two of them closer together. Poe tries to remain fairly low key about it because he doesn’t want to cause Finn any unnecessary awkwardness, but when no one else is looking he leans in and kisses Finn on the corner of the mouth or on the cheek, and Finn smiles, tangling his hands in Poe’s hair. 

Finn, on the other hand, is an unbelievably fast learner. He figures out how to get Poe, for the first time in a long time, weak at the knees, kissing him warm and achingly slow when they’re alone in Poe’s barracks. This turns into a kind of game, seeing how long they can go until one of them gets so hot they have to separate, panting.

“So have you two fucked yet or what,” Jess says one day, dropping her canteen on the concrete with a _thunk,_ which in turn startles Poe nearly to the point of falling off of his position on the nose of his fighter.

“Pardon?” Poe wipes one hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge of black oil.

“You heard me, Dameron. What, you think the rest of us suddenly don’t have functioning eyes?”

“Don’t think my sex life is any of your business,” Poe grumbles, swinging his legs over and landing (rather gracefully, to his own credit) on the floor.

“Oh, _please,_ Poe, don’t give me that shit. I _was_ your roommate when we first got here, you seriously don’t think I didn’t know what your jerkoff habits were? Don’t insult me.”

Poe doesn’t have anything to say to that. Jess crosses her arms.

“Tell me,” Jess entreats, a little nicer this time. “Come on, we haven’t been seeing nearly as much of you around, the least you could do is tell me what you’re up to with Soldier Boy.”

Poe looks at the high ceiling of the hangar and sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No. No, we haven’t done anything like that yet. Finn’s an adult but he’s been spending his life with people monitoring how much he eats, sleeps, pisses. I’m not doing that with him unless he specifically wants me to.”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

He lets out an exasperated noise. _“Yes,_ yeah, I thought about it.”

“Then why don’t you ask him?”

 _“Hell,_ Jessika, I—“

“I’m not saying you _pressure_ the guy, damn. You’re a grown ass man, Poe, I expect you know how to conduct yourself. But neither of you are _talking_ about it and honestly it’s killing the rest of us here because the tension between you two could be cut with a butter knife. A dull one, too.”

Poe swallows, hard. Jessica uncrosses her arms and raises them above her head, palms up, as if imploring some higher power to intervene and Make Poe Dameron See Reason. She spins on her heel and heads back outside. 

“But what do I know, right? I’m just a pilot.”

\--

“So I had an interesting talk with Jess today,” Poe says, toweling off his wet hair.

“About what?” Finn’s sitting on his bed, reading. There’s a huge pile of books at the foot of Finn’s bed – some of them Poe’s, some borrowed from other Resistance fighters. 

“Whether we were having sex,” Poe replies, although it’s so fast it sounds more like _whethwe’rehavinsex._ He winces as Finn drops the book.

“Ah,” Finn says, finally, and for a brief moment Poe considers jumping out of the window.

“Yeah.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That we hadn’t, because I didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything you weren’t ready for or didn’t want to do.”

“Ah,” he says again, and Poe begins to worry that he’s made Finn wildly uncomfortable.

“Words would be good right now, bud, I’m beginning to get kinda nervous over here.”

“Okay,” Finn says, pulling his feet up onto his bed. “Can you come here?”

Poe blinks at Finn before padding over, standing awkwardly before him. Finn pats the mattress, and he obliges, plopping down next to him.

“Will you kiss me?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. They bump noses, clumsily, before their lips touch, chastely, once, then twice, three times. Finn opens his mouth slightly and lets Poe deepen it, humming in the back of his throat.

“You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile,” Finn whispers, breaking away. “I mean, there are still some things that we’ll have to work up to, but. If you can just do this with me. I’ll tell you if you’re doing something I don’t like. Don’t overthink it.”

Retrospectively speaking, being told to not overthink sex by a practical virgin who spent his entire life on a death ship flying through outer space seemed a bit preposterous to Poe, but Finn was kissing him again and it’s a little hard for him to _think_ when Finn’s sucking his lower lip in the way he likes, and –

Oh, hell.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Poe breathes, finally, and Finn slides a curious hand up the front of Poe’s shirt. His thumb skims a nipple and Poe gasps, earning a grin from Finn. “Y’know, for someone who don’t know what he’s doing, you’re oddly good at this.”

“I’m just seeing what works,” Finn says slyly, and this time _pinches,_ causing Poe to inhale sharply. “Apparently this works _very_ well.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Poe groans, though he doesn’t complain when Finn rucks up his shirt and uses his mouth instead, catching it between his teeth and laving over it with his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, if you keep this up I’m gonna absolutely come in my pants like a _teenager—“_

“Don’t want that happening,” Finn tells his collarbone, and immediately makes it his prerogative to undo Poe’s fly as quickly as possible. He can _feel_ his cock beginning to swell and Finn can tell it too from the way he palms at the front of his underwear, curious. “I gotta admit, I haven’t done this to anyone but myself, so it’s a bit weird.”

Which is – not the mental image Poe needs right now, of Finn sweating, laid out on the bed, _touching himself—_

If Poe made a sound like a dying animal right then, Finn did him the favor of not mentioning it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve _wanted_ this,” Poe growls, and he’s pulling Finn down on top of him and that’s – yep, definitely Finn’s erection against his leg, hello there. “How long I’ve wanted to get you into bed, how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this.”

“How long?” Finn asks, nipping at his ear, his jaw, his neck. His hips are grinding, however minutely, against Poe’s thigh, desperate for any friction he can get. 

“Since the moment you took off that helmet on the _Finalizer_ – no, since the moment you told me that saving my life was the right thing to do.”

“You were the first person to see me as anything but a white helmet,” Finn says, voice husky. “You gave me a name, you gave me your _jacket_ – you gave me… _me._ I don’t – I don’t know how I can thank you for that.”

“This is more than any thanks I deserve,” Poe promises, hauling Finn up to kiss him again. “I’m already a greedy bastard for this.”

He _is,_ and he can’t shake that feeling as he undoes Finn’s pants and shoves them down with his underwear, freeing up his cock. Finn does the same, shimmying the material down enough so Poe is naked _enough._

“I don’t – ah, I don’t want to do anything invasive,” Finn says, uncertain, and Poe smiles, shaking his head.

“This is _fine,_ buddy, just follow my lead. Move your hips.”

Finn obliges, and the naked contact of their cocks rubbing together makes him yelp, as if he were shocked. “Oh. Oh, _God.”_

“Uh-huh,” Poe agrees, and Finn does it again, and _again,_ and – Poe’s quite aware now of just how hard he was, hooking a leg around Finn’s hips and urging him closer. It’s wet and sticky like this, just _rubbing,_ but the noises Finn’s making are things Poe wishes he could bottle up and save forever. Finn’s hips snap harder each time, making the bedframe hit the wall, but the friction is rough and hot and _perfect_ and when Poe gets the genius idea of spitting into his palm and taking them both in hand, stroking as slow as you please, his vision starts to go fuzzy around the edges.

“I’m going to die,” Finn huffs, moaning when Poe twists on the upstroke, “this is legitimately how I’m going to go.”

“Not a bad way, I hope,” Poe says, biting his lip, and Finn puffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No, this beats at least three quarters of the causes of death I can think of.”

Finn’s hand joins with his and suddenly the heat is _unbearable,_ as if the mattress itself might as well be on fire. Neither of them can find it in themselves to talk anymore so the room is filled with grunts and groans and the slick noises of sex as the two of them rut desperately against each other. 

Poe can already feel the coil of his orgasm in the base of his spine and he chases it, each roll of his hips and twist of their hands sending sparks across his vision. Finn doesn’t seem far behind, his lower lip sucked between his teeth and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, I’m gonna – is it okay if I—“

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Yeah, go ‘head.”

And his eyes open and he’s looking Poe _in the eye_ through his eyelashes and that—

That does it.

Poe comes harder than he ever did in his _life,_ he thinks, spending messily over their hands, his mouth open but no sound coming out. He strokes them both through it until he can’t take it anymore and lets his hand drop to the side, panting hard. Finn wraps a hand around his own dick and jerks himself off hard and quick, the occasional curse word falling from his lips.

“Can I—“

“Yes, yes, _please,_ you don’t even have to ask,” Poe says.

Finn nods sharply, and Poe can’t help but watch as he gets himself off, enraptured. Finn’s pumping his hand shakily, his legs beginning to struggle to keep him up, and he’s coming all over Poe’s stomach with a cry, chest heaving all the way through.

It’s _perfect._

Poe watches, bleary eyed, as Finn struggles off of the bed in search of something to clean themselves up with. “Tissues on my bed,” Poe mumbles, pointing lazily. “Oh my God.”

“Scoot,” Finn says, mattress dipping under his weight, and Poe acquiesces. Finn cleans the both of them up and tosses the tissues on the floor, not even bothering to go to the wastebasket. “If I try any more walking, I might actually fall over.”

“Understood,” Poe laughs, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna just call it a night right now.”

“Yeah. Yep, same.”

\--

They wake up the next morning tangled up in each other’s arms.

“Jess is gonna love this,” Poe groans, trying to move the arm Finn ended up sleeping on. “Hey. Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“I – would not be surprised if she knows already,” Finn replies, rolling over and glowering. “Considering we made enough noise to probably be heard on this entire floor of the wing.”

He has a good point. 

They shower off any excess stickiness and brush their teeth, and change into clothing that _doesn’t_ have traces of jizz on it, and head to the mess hall for breakfast. Where approximately a dozen pilots are waiting for them with a box mix cake that says CONGRATS ON THE SEX in frosting.

“Is dying still an option that’s on the table?” Poe asks, mortified.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think so,” Finn says.

Jess, predictably, gets a real kick out of this. Poe is handed the slice of cake that says SEX on it and he looks as if he wants to drop through the floor into the core of D’Qar and burn to a fiery crisp. Finn takes it in stride, blushing and laughing when one pilot claps him on the back proudly.

“Remind me to murder Jess later.”

“Sure, if I don’t do it first.”

The day goes fairly normally from then on out, aside from a few knowing winks from other pilots, which Poe pretends not to see. Later that night, when they’re lying together in bed looking at the ceiling, Poe turns his head to look at Finn.

“Do you think Rey’s gonna be alright?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I miss the kid.”

“Last I heard from her she was still training with Luke Skywalker. I imagine she’s gotten pretty good.”

“Mm.”

“Worried?”

“About what’s coming next? Fuckin’ terrified.”

Now Finn turns his head to look at Poe. “Listen. If a rogue Stormtrooper and an imprisoned pilot of the Resistance can successfully steal a First Order TIE fighter and make it out alive, anything’s on the table. Rey’s far smarter than either of us are. Whatever comes our way – well, that’s what comes. And the best we can do is prepare for it.”

Poe grins. “Optimistic, aren’t we?”

“I have to be. It’s what got me here.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Exactly. Now get some sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> y'all. i saw the new star wars and it was Gay.
> 
> originally i just wanted to write porn but then suddenly i ended up with 6.5k of Feelings and only a few hundred of that was actual porn? the human mind works in mysterious ways, my friends. but also i'm really excited that the main ship of this fandom is an interracial gay couple so, like, you know. i am In This Trash Compactor with the rest of you guys, i hope you're okay with having me.
> 
> some notes:
> 
> 1\. i waffled on whether or not characters would use "god" the way we do, but according to a friend of mine they do in star wars novels, so i'm taking that as my go-ahead that it's Not That Weird.  
> 2\. apparently "kriff" is basically this universe's "fuck" but i think that's ridiculous so i elected to just use "fuck" instead. please do not throw rotten fruit at me.  
> 3\. the title of this fic comes from an [oscar isaac song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDMXMfA2gfc) because i am Just That Gay. click that link if you Also want to get emotional!
> 
> and finally, you can find me here on [tumblr.](http://mattmurderdocks.tumblr.com) feel free to yell at me about this pairing, the star war was a dream.


End file.
